


Tales of Tamriel: Skyrim

by Laurelach (maggieisabel)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Multi, because i love the game that's why, in addition to the main questline it'll follow a few guilds, it's huge and complicated and so dramatic, so it's basically one big story tied together my multiple characters a la game of thrones, why did i decide to do this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 18:39:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16124420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggieisabel/pseuds/Laurelach
Summary: Sabjorn Gerrison wishes for nothing more than peace in Tamriel. But with the Skyrim civil war rising to a boiling point, he's been summoned to the cold country to put an end to Ulfric Stormcloak once and for all. An impassable hurdle stands in his way, however; his Stormcloak brother.Azad al-Gilane wants to do right by his teenage daughter, whom he's been struggling to raise alone for seventeen years. When dragons begin to rise again, he finds himself thrown into the fray as a researcher.Dahla al-Gilane dreams of adventures and love. She's tired of being tied down to her father, tired of perusing Dwemer ruins. She wants more. And when her father is summoned away to help put down Alduin, she finds herself free for the first time in her life.Elisae Caemaire doesn't like people. She imposed her own solitude for that very reason. But as the country begins to fall to ruin, she must leave her home at The Throat of the World to join the Dragonborn in his quest for peace.As the four come to a crossroads, their paths cross and intertwine, and the country will forever be changed.





	Tales of Tamriel: Skyrim

**Author's Note:**

> Although this story starts differently than the game, it will tell almost the same main storyline. As will the chapters that deal with The Guild and The Brotherhood.

1\. The 17th of Last Seed, 4e 201  
  
Sabjorn was jolted awake by a bellowing noise, something between a shout and a grunt. He gripped the hilt of his longsword and sat bolt upright, staring blearily around the covered wagon.

The source of the noise soon became apparent; the other Imperial traveling with him was holding a bottle of ale, swigging it as if it were spring water. Besides the drunk, an even tipsier old Bosmer sang lowly of a lover he had in High Rock. Beyond him, there was a sleeping Argonian, a Redguard sharpening her sword, and a Dunmer with his nose in a tome.

He opted on the nearest traveler and turned to the Dunmer beside him, murmuring lowly, “D’you know when we’ll be in Helgen?”

The elf hardly glanced up from his book and said curtly, “Soon. I believe. We passed through the border a half an hour ago so it shouldn’t be much longer.”

Sabjorn nodded and straightened up. He leaned into the rough-hewn wood bench of the wagon. It was already damp with humidity. What country was cruel enough to be cold as well as humid?

He pulled up his hood and leaned over to peer out of the back of the wagon, nearly falling from his seat when their driver announced rather loudly that there was an emergency concerning Helgen, and they’d be stopping there.

“Oh drat,” the elf muttered. “What could possibly constitute an emergency in this foul country?”

From above there was a rush of wind like a storm. The carriage driver promptly screamed, paused, and gave one word.

“RUN!”

Sabjorn wasted no time in rushing from the small space. He jumped out of the wagon onto the road and had a moment to admire the forest of towering cedar and fragrant pine before a second scream split the air.

Upon reflection the brunette Imperial realized that it was not, in fact, a scream, but a roar. He’d heard many animals give this enraged call throughout his life, but none had been so voluminous, so chilling.

The other travelers exited the wagon in a rapid fashion and joined him on the road. They trained their gazes on the town perhaps a half mile South, no more.

Helgen was on fire. Utterly shrouded in a crackling inferno, its very stones were beginning to char from the intense heat of the disaster. Screams could be heard from even this distance, faint but agonizing.

The Bosmer man seemed to have sobered right up. He pointed to a large shadow currently swooping over the city, blasting bouts of fire indiscriminately. “Dragon.”

Sabjorn shook his head. This was impossible. Dragons had died out centuries ago. The last was benevolent, a servant to Talos himself. Not this monstrosity, raining down fire and hell on innocents.

Although he’d never much liked playing soldier, Sabjorn never took issue with the heart of his roles- helping people. It was for his country that he stayed in the Legion, and it was for his people that he’d come to this wretched place. He wouldn’t let them down so soon.

“I’m going to help,” he said at once. “Does anyone care to join me?”

The first to step up was the Redguard woman. She hefted her newly sharpened sword and nodded. “I don’t particularly like the people, but… it would be a dishonor to not fight.”

The Argonian and the Bosmer both stepped up to join, leaving the Imperial and the Dunmer in the background.

“I’m a researcher,” the Dunmer admitted quietly. “I don’t know how to fight.”

Quiet, his gaze distant, the Imperial said, “I… I can’t fight. Old injuries.”

Sabjorn nodded. “I understand. Do whatever you’re comfortable with. Find another town and warn them if you can. I pray no others have fallen.”

The groups parted, the smaller heading West toward the towering Throat of the World. The larger started South at a brisk pace.

“I doubt we’ll be doing any fighting,” Sabjorn stated. “But the town will be in ruins. Try to minimize your time indoors and rescue who you can. Is anyone here a healer?”

There was a pause before the Argonian spoke up, “I know a few minor healing spells.”

“Anything helps,” the Imperial said. “I’m Sabjorn, by the way.”

“Tamara,” the Redguard said.

The Bosmer man murmured, “Revan.”

“Asum,” the Argonian introduced himself.

With the introductions behind them, the group entered Helgen through the crumbling front gate. It was a mess. Citizens ran about, shouting and frantically passing buckets of water from a central well. Imperial soldiers and Dominion agents were part of the mix, looking just as taken aback by the attack.

Sabjorn ran into the fight without pause, rooting out a Praefect nearly at once. He stepped into a salute, protocol be damned, and said, “Legate Gerrinson reporting for duty. I’ve mustered three to help. Where do you need us?”

The Praefect looked mystified but stood at attention, returned the salute before saying, “There are still folks trapped in the Inn. We’re trying to put the fire out, but that damned dragon keeps coming back!”

As if on cue the scaled beast hurtled down from the clouds above. It opened its maw and sprouted white-hot flames across a length of the town. An elderly Nord man was unfortunate enough to be caught in the flames.

Sabjorn turned away, his expression unchanged. He had long since learned to turn a blind eye to mindless slaughter. This was new, but it wasn’t. Not really. Death was death, whether by dragon or human hand.

“Asum,” he said. “I’d advise you set up right outside of the city. Revan and Tamara, team up and evacuate. Take the citizens out of the nearest gate but group up North of the city. Try to get into the trees.”

His new allies sprung into action, their expressions firm and determined. But what was in their hearts soon proved to not be enough. The dragon seemed to be of a singular mind; destruction. It toppled towers, buildings, and burned all those unfortunate enough to tarry in front of it.

In the end, Asum, Revan, and Tamara died. And so did most of the citizens. Soldiers, prisoners, and Stormcloaks alike fell to the monster. He was sure that he glimpsed Ulfric among those fleeing, and it was only the cries of a child in the path of the dragon that persuaded him not to chase the dissenter. He did not realize Ulfric had been caught. The end of the war had been that close.

When the dragon finally fled, to wherever they did not know, he regrouped with the Legion outside of the city limits. Of the dozen prisoners they’d been set to execute, nearly all had escaped. One had died before the dragon even arrived, by some odd circumstances. One had been beheaded, and the rest were gone.

“Ulfric is gone,” General Tullius sighed. “There’s no use in chasing after him now. He’s smart enough not to immediately return home, and we don’t have the men to split up after him.”

Nearby, the Dominion and their ambassador, a sharp-faced woman named Elenwen, waited. Their expressions were severe.

“What a waste,” the Altmer seethed. “All of this effort, the man, and to what end? He’s escaped once again. That attack was awfully convenient, General.”

Her tone was not lost on the Imperial. He turned from his gathered men to her and waved her toward a tree, where they continued their conversation in low tones.

One of the soldiers turned to Sabjorn, examining him with a critical eye. “You fight awfully well for a citizen. You should consider joining the Legion. We could use your strength.”

“Actually,” Sabjorn mumbled. “I am. Legate Gerrinson. Nice to meet you.”

The man offered a hand and they shook. “Prafect Hadvar. You as well. You know, your father’s something of a legend around here. And your brother…”

“We don’t talk about him,” Sabjorn interrupted. His gaze drifted south, toward the rolling hills, and the looming hold of Whiterun beyond. He nodded toward it, frowning. “We need to go warn them. Are there any other Holds around here that might be under threat?”

“Shit,” Hadvar said. “You’re right. Riverwood! My uncle is the blacksmith there. They don’t even have a wall.”

Sabjorn raised a blonde brow. “Then I think we should leave as soon as possible. Don’t you?”

“Aye,” Hadvar agreed. He consulted briefly with General Tullius, and soon the two were off, on the last two horses that had survived the massacre. As they rode further South from the city, the stench became noticeable. Death and scorched wood.

Sabjorn turned his face to the sky and murmured a prayer to the Divines.

_Let the world survive this reckoning._

**Author's Note:**

> TOT:S is a labor of love. I aim to post a new chapter every Friday, although I may sometimes fall behind. I will never be later than one week, however.


End file.
